


you found me

by softlyscout



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, bc i desperately need some more hope comforting lizzie content, rewrite of the kitchen scene in 1x01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:42:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyscout/pseuds/softlyscout
Summary: “Woah,” Hope says, breaking the silence. She grabs the knife cautiously and sets it down on a counter.Lizzie’s stomach knots. She’s annoyed at Hope for interrupting her, for showing up at the worst moment like usual. Her eyes narrow into a glare and she huffs, positive that her current breakdown is somehow all the other girl’s fault, even if she can’t explainhow. Lizzie has to fight the urge to toss a fork at her.//what if hope's the one who finds lizzie in the kitchen mid-breakdown?
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman
Comments: 12
Kudos: 276





	you found me

Lizzie stumbles unsteadily through the quiet halls, fighting back unshed tears. Her heartbeat thunders in her ears, loud and harsh and painful, and she flinches, nearly tripping. Silently she begs her hammering heart to settle down; begs for the last hour to disappear and for the pain to just stop.

When the ache comes to chase away the hurt, deep and cold and unforgiving, Lizzie regrets her pleas. Her chest feels empty and frozen, coated in a fine layer of ice — the pain is gone, but something dark is settling there instead, something that makes Lizzie uneasy.

The numbness feels too heavy as it washes over her; she whimpers under its weight.

_ I sort of made a point in my life of uh, keeping clear of girls like you. _

Swallowing back a sob, Lizzie braces herself against the nearest wall, struggling to breathe. She tries to remember the breathing exercises her mom taught her, tries to time each inhale and exhale, but her mind blanks. Panic creeps in as she loses count, and suddenly there’s not enough air in the world to fill her hungry lungs.

The scene in the field plays over and over in her mind on repeat; she just lets it.

_ Keeping clear of girls like you. _

Squeezing her eyes shut, she lets her head fall back with a soft thud.

There’s a humming starting in the back of her brain, getting louder and louder, and Lizzie knows she needs to smother it before it’s too late, before it grows. But that takes a lot of work, and she’s too tired. Her head feels full of cotton and static, or maybe a swarm of bees — yes, that’s it.

There are bees trapped in her brain and they’re mad.

She’s mad.

_ Girls like you. _

Her head tips forward as the panic fades. Grief takes its place, settling beneath her ribs, empty and bitter and black. Lizzie shifts uncomfortably and decides it’s time to go and find her dad, or Josie, or maybe Miss Tig. She needs someone to talk her down from the edge and quickly, before the darkness overwhelms her completely.

With a shuddering breath, Lizzie pushes herself forward, fighting against the fog in her mind to remember where everyone is. She vaguely recalls her dad saying something about researching some cursed artifact thing with Dorian, and that Emma would be helping them all day. She frowns in annoyance, then shrugs.

Her dad and Emma are busy, but she still has Josie — she’ll know what to do. Lizzie just hopes she can keep it together long enough to find her.

Her body moves on autopilot, swerving around to walk towards the library. It takes a second for reality to catch up with her; she jerks as if she’s been slapped when it finally sinks in. She freezes.

Josie is in the library — Lizzie is almost certain of this — and the library is a very public place. Despite the Wickery game happening outside, plenty of people will still be milling about, finishing homework or gossiping quietly. All it will take is one look at her in all her tear-stained glory and they’ll scurry off to spread whispers like wildfire; by dinner, everyone will be talking about it, about  _ her _ .

‘Did you hear about Lizzie Saltzman?’ they’ll ask between mouthfuls. ‘She had another meltdown and totally lost it. Isn’t that so  _ sad _ ?’ 

Rumours will start to swirl, each more outrageous and harmful than the last. Josie will try her hardest to stop them, but Lizzie will still hear them all, will still be haunted by them forever.

Her hands form fists at her side and she cracks. 

_ Like you. _

Anger licks at her chest like flames and she feeds it, setting her heart ablaze with rage. She’s angry at the world for cursing her and angry at every person in this godforsaken prison of a school for not understanding her; angry at her father for not trying harder to fix her and at Josie for not sharing this burden with her; angry at Hope for telling people about her breakdowns in the first place and ruining her entire life.

But most of all, Lizzie is angry with herself for being so badly broken.

Her nails bite into her palms as she clenches her fists, certain she knows what she needs to do.

**_You._ **

Lizzie needs to break something, anything. She needs to break  _ everything _ .

As if in a trance, her body spurs into motion, moving down the corridor with a sudden ease. Her fingertips glow red as they trail along the wall next to her. With a hum, Lizzie siphons magic as she walks, keeps siphoning until her veins are buzzing.

She finds a room to destroy easily, tossing the door open with a quick wave of her hand. Swallowing down the scream clawing at her throat, she clenches her jaw and steps into the kitchen. 

It’s empty and breakable. It’s perfect.

Lizzie gives the room a once-over, her eyes falling on the tray resting on the counter. A plate sits perfectly in the center of it, a clear glass off to the side — she gives her wrist an experimental flick and suddenly the dishes are shattering against a nearby wall. She stares at the mess with wonder for a heartbeat before moving on. 

There’s no hesitation after that.

Her palms lunge forward, sending mixing bowls flying. She spins on her heel, arms weaving patterns through the air, and watches as pots and pans burst free from their hooks and crash to the ground. 

The sound of metal hitting metal echoes through the room, ringing in her ears. She shivers. Beads of sweat line her brow and she’s panting, but she doesn’t stop.

She can’t. Not yet.

Lizzie doesn’t notice that she’s shaking as she hurls mugs across the room; hasn’t realized she’s screeching as she rips the cabinet doors from their hinges. She barely pauses to glance at all the destruction, hardly notices her chest tightening. 

Dishes soar through the air. Carts are knocked over, baking sheets clattering to the floor. The room is alive with the sound of banging and smashing, and she’s certain someone must have heard it by now, that soon someone will be bursting through the door to see what’s wrong, and yet—

Lizzie is still all alone.

Clearly no one is worried about her. No one is frantically trying to find her. She can feel herself falling apart, but there’s no one here to help pick up the pieces, to put her back together again. 

She’s not sure she can do it on her own this time.

Tears prick at her eyes as it all sinks in. Her limbs feel heavy, her body weighed down by an invisible force. The pain hits all at once and Lizzie welcomes it, prods at it, desperate to feel something other than anger. 

Her throat is raw from yelling but she screams again, and this time she can hear just how broken it sounds. Her chest caves as her voice cracks and Lizzie hates it, hates it all. Her fingers twitch and then flick.

The knife sinks into the door with a satisfying thwump, then silence. She stares at it for half a second, a mix of awe and shock, before she reaches out again. 

The second knife arcs through the air almost immediately after the first. Her eyes are glued to the door, waiting for it to pierce the wood, when the sight of auburn curls sends her scrambling.

Lizzie barely manages to stop the knife from stabbing into Hope Mikaelson’s face. It hovers in the air between them, the tip still aimed at the tribrid.

Gasping, Lizzie clutches at her chest, trying to calm her frantic heart. Her relief at not stabbing someone is short-lived as she eyes the girl who just walked in on her mid-meltdown.

“Woah,” Hope says, breaking the silence. She grabs the knife cautiously and sets it down on a counter.

Lizzie’s stomach knots. She’s annoyed at Hope for interrupting her, for showing up at the worst moment like usual. Her eyes narrow into a glare and she huffs, positive that her current breakdown is somehow all the other girl’s fault, even if she can’t explain  _ how _ . Lizzie has to fight the urge to toss a fork at her.

Despite being torn apart and completely trashed, the kitchen is oddly calm and quiet. Hope’s eyes flicker between Lizzie and the overturned cooling racks, and she frowns. Lizzie holds her breath and raises her chin, daring her to make a comment about it.

She’s surprised when Hope doesn’t. Instead, she takes a tentative step forward, her voice soft and filled with concern as she asks, “Are you okay?”

Lizzie would have laughed if she had the energy, but she settles for an eye roll. She goes to reply, the words  _ I’m fine _ on the tip of her tongue, but nothing comes out. Swallowing down her panic, she tries again — tries to frantically tell Hope to fuck off and leave her alone forever, tries to beg her to go and find Josie — but her voice refuses to work right. Her collar dampens as she lets herself cry, because Lizzie knows she’s not okay, that she’s never  _ been _ okay.

She’s pretty sure that Hope knows it too.

“Lizzie?” Hope’s voice sounds small and afraid, and Lizzie crumbles.

Her knees buckle under her and then she’s falling. Shards of glass dig into her palms as she hits the ground, but Lizzie’s too tired to care; she feels drained and just wants to lay down for awhile — or maybe forever.

Lizzie leans forward, goes to curl into a ball until her thoughts quiet down, but strong arms wrap around her before she gets far, keeping her upright. Her body trembles in relief and she collapses into Hope’s embrace, letting out a soft whimper. They’ve never hugged each other before, but something about being wrapped up in Hope’s arms feels right; Lizzie forces that thought aside, afraid of what she’ll find if she thinks about that feeling long enough.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Hope’s warm breath ghosts over Lizzie’s ear as she murmurs the words softly, sending a series of shivers skittering along her spine. Swallowing, she sucks in a shuddering breath and nods, eager to believe her.

It feels like they sit there tangled up in each other forever. Hope’s arms stay wrapped around Lizzie as she sniffles and cries, finally coming undone. It’s not until her sobs turn to hiccups and her tears stop completely that either of them move apart.

Hope pulls back first, her eyes searching Lizzie’s face for a heartbeat before moving to look at Lizzie’s hands. The glass under them crunches as she shifts, and that’s when Lizzie starts to feel the burning in her palms. She winces and Hope notices.

Slowly and carefully, Hope reaches out and taps at Lizzie’s wrists, silently asking for permission to see them. She nods, biting her lip as Hope gently pulls her hands forward until they rest in her lap. They both stare at the blood, bright and red.

Steeling herself, she flexes her fingers. Pain flares up instantly, sharp and insistent, and her vision swims. Lizzie isn’t one to faint at the sight of blood or a bad cut, but she can feel her heartbeat in her fingertips and she worries that she might be sick.

Hope’s hands hover cautiously over hers, momentarily distracting her. Lizzie holds her breath and waits for the older girl to make the next move.

“Can you stand?” she asks instead, pulling her hands back.

“Um,” Lizzie croaks out, trying not to be disappointed as the moment slips away. She coughs and her throat burns; she blinks back the fresh tears stinging her eyes. “Maybe?”

Hope nods and stands up first. Lizzie’s eyes catch on the fresh tears in Hope’s leggings and she frowns, a wave of guilt crashing over her. She’s about to apologize — for ruining her pants and for ruining her afternoon — but Hope speaks up first.

“I’m going to help you up slowly, but you have to try not to touch anything until we can clean your hands, okay?” 

Lizzie nods and together they pull her up gingerly. Her body trembles as she stands, the aches and exhaustion hitting her all at once, but somehow she manages to stay upright on her own. Hope rushes off to grab her a chair, easing her down gently once she’s dragged it over. Lizzie’s bones hum in relief, and for the first time in hours she doesn’t feel numb.

With tired eyes, she notices Hope dart around the kitchen, grabbing hand towels and warm water and the mini first aid kit they keep stored under the sink. Lizzie blinks and all of a sudden Hope’s in front of her again with the supplies. Her eyes search Lizzie’s face, lingering a moment too long, and they both blush. Dipping her head, she clears her throat, all business again. 

“This is going to hurt, but I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Lizzie doesn’t hesitate; she holds her hands out in front of her and braces herself.

“I tru—” she starts before cutting herself off.  _ ‘I trust you _ ’ rests on her lips but she swallows it down, murmuring a soft, “I believe you,” instead.

They fall into a comfortable silence as Hope starts to work on cleaning out her cuts. She watches in wonder as Hope patches up her wounds and pieces her back together slowly, ever so gently, as if she’s done this all before; Lizzie almost wishes she had. 

She jolts at the thought, forcing it aside hastily. The quiet feels unsettling now, Hope’s closeness overwhelming, and Lizzie’s mind scrambles to find something to fill it with. Her thoughts wander before clinging to the memory of the last few hours, working backwards until she’s sitting on the bleachers and watching Rafael walk away from her all over again. Her stomach clenches with unease and regret.

“Do you think I’m broken?” Lizzie asks, startling them both. 

Hope pauses. The silence is heavier now, almost suffocating, and Lizzie wishes she could take the words back — it’s not like she cares about what Hope thinks anyways, right? But now she’s curious about her answer, so Lizzie bites her lip and waits, neither of them saying anything. It feels like a lifetime before Hope finally speaks up.

“I think we’re all broken,” she starts slowly, picking her words carefully. Lizzie rolls her eyes and opens her mouth, ready to argue that that’s such a cop out answer, when Hope continues. “I think we’re all broken in some way or another, but some of us are more broken than others, and it sucks.”

Lizzie doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she keeps quiet instead. Hope hums softly under her breath as she wraps Lizzie’s hands in bandages, her fingers brushing over her pulsepoint, making Lizzie’s heart flutter wildly. Struggling to catch her breath, she almost forgets about their conversation entirely until Hope starts talking again.

“You and I, we got really unlucky in this whole life thing.” Her eyes flicker up to meet hers, and Lizzie almost flinches at the overwhelming sadness she sees looking back at her. Hope ignores her reaction and continues. “We’re both pretty broken — so broken, in fact, that no one really knows how to fix us, or if we can even be fixed at all. We’ve got a permanent ‘fragile’ sticker stuck on us, almost like a forever warning for everyone else around — handle with care or they  _ will _ break. And it’s shitty that we have to deal with that. It’s unfair.”

Hope huffs and Lizzie doesn’t think — she reaches out and links her fingers with hers, giving them a gentle squeeze. Hope smiles a small smile and looks away, her voice softer now; Lizzie tries to ignore the tightening in her chest when she sees the glassy look in Hope’s eyes.

“But it doesn’t matter how broken we are in comparison to everyone else, not really. I think the fact that we choose to put ourselves back together again and again after we’ve fallen apart, no matter how many times we break down or how hard it gets along the way, is important —  _ that’s _ what really matters.”

Hope squeezes her fingers back as Lizzie sniffles, blinking back fresh tears. 

“So,” she finishes, facing Lizzie again — Hope is smiling at her and she’s certain it’s the prettiest thing she’s ever seen — “I do think you’re broken. But I’ve watched you work hard to put your pieces back together over and over again, and I know it’s a battle but you fight for it each time. You’ve never given up, and I’m so proud of you for that, Lizzie.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, Lizzie’s tears are happy tears. Hope’s words sink in and settle in her heart, chasing away any lingering darkness; she cries in relief as the weight and fear disappear. Lizzie initiates the hug this time, leaning forward to wrap her arms around her. Hope doesn’t hesitate to hug back.

She’s not sure how to explain it, not exactly, but Lizzie is certain that this is exactly where she was always meant to be — wrapped up in Hope as they build each other up. She’s not sure what it means, or what the future holds for the two of them, but she decides to worry about that later, focusing on soaking up this moment instead. 

“I’m not sure how you did it,” Lizzie breathes, her fingers gripping Hope’s sweater. “But I’m really glad you found me today, Hope. Thank you.”

Hope’s breath dances across Lizzie’s neck, sending her pulse racing, as she replies, “Try not to make a habit of it, Saltzman.”

But she’s leaning further into Lizzie, gripping her tighter, holding her close. Hope’s lips brush against her collarbone and she shivers at the contact; she smiles into her neck and Lizzie swears her heart is going to burst free from her chest, prays that Hope can’t hear it pounding against her ribs. Embarrassed, she tries to calm down, nearly missing the words Hope whispers into her skin.

“I promise to always find you, Lizzie.”

Lizzie swallows back a sob and breathes the words softly into the crook of Hope’s neck, “I promise to find you too, Hope. Always.” 

Alone in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by disaster and destruction, they cling to each other — just the two of them against the world. The whispering starts in Lizzie’s mind again but this time the voice is familiar and kind and  _ safe _ , and Lizzie falls right into it.

_ I’m so proud of you. I promise to always find you. Lizzie. _

She decides she likes the sound of her name on Hope’s lips best and, finally, she smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr (@softhizzie) or twitter (@softhizzies) about your thoughts/hizzie in general pls!


End file.
